Own the Eights Gets Married - Krista Sandor Page 0,46
They could file this act of debauchery under the mental health emergency tab.
Yes, sir!
Mental health was no joke and maintaining it through whatever means necessary, otherwise known as doing the naughty until they forgot what deer jerky tasted like, was just what the doctor ordered.
“Brice and Camille, you do not get a point,” Buck said, then made a slash on his clipboard as Camille crossed her arms, and Brice hung his head.
“No biggie, man. You’ll get the next one,” Jordan said under his breath to the crestfallen Brice.
What did he really want to say to the ruler of rodent retirement?
Brice Casey, you are a loser, loser, loser, loser! Today, the Rodent Royalty regimen lives in shame. Take your plunger princess and forget about yurt sex.
Brice gave him a defeated nod. “Thanks, dude.”
“Jordan, hold up your board,” Buck said, moving on.
Jordan tried to maintain a neutral expression but could not help the corners of his mouth from curling into a cocky grin. He probably looked like Cruella de Vil, but he didn’t care.
“I wrote Pride and Prejudice,” he proclaimed as if he were the conquering force, preparing to take no prisoners.
Georgie let out an excited yip from across the gathering area.
“That is correct,” Buck replied, making a tick on the paper.
Okay, a slash was bad, and a tick was good.
He caught his fiancée’s eye, and she mouthed good job. He gave her a thumbs-up, and baby, they were back!
“Next question, gentleman. What is your special someone’s favorite food?”
With his cocky grin still in place, Jordan picked up the dry erase marker and scribbled out five words.
Again, Buck started at the other end, ticking and slashing as the men answered the question.
“Brice, you’re up,” Buck said, working his way down the line.
Bricey Pooh mopped his brow with the hem of his shirt. “Cheetos,” he answered with a wince.
“That is not correct,” Buck replied with a sharp slash.
“Brice Hannibal Casey! Why on earth would you think Cheetos were my favorite food?” Camille called for all of Colorado to hear.
Jordan pressed his lips together in a hard line, doing his best not to laugh his ass off at the mention of Brice’s middle name. What kind of parent named their kid Hannibal?
Georgie bit her lip, clearly trying to do the same thing.
Brice raised his hands defensively. “I wasn’t sure if you wrote down the fancy food you order when we’re out in public or all the stuff you eat when we get home.”
Camille gasped. “My favorite food is organic Pad Thai with extra carrots and tofu. I have no idea why my fiancé would ever think it was Cheetos,” she said, addressing the group.
“You did wolf down a bag in the car before we got here, Cammie. That’s why I went with Cheetos,” Brice offered apologetically.
Damn! The guy was striking out hardcore.
Camille’s eyes went wide.
“I mean…you only downed half a bag,” Brice amended, but to no avail.
Camille looked ready to knock her bean spilling, or in this case, Cheeto spilling fiancé into next week.
“Let’s move on,” Syd offered, patting Camille’s shoulder and helping her back to her seat.
Buck tapped the clipboard. “Jordan, what’s Georgie’s favorite food?”
Hello, sweet success!
“Vegan chocolate chip cookie dough,” he replied, showing off the dry erase board. He even drew a tube of it below the words to highlight his artistic flair.
Georgie patted her heart, and his heart went flippity-flippity-flop. Sweet Jesus, it was good to have his Georgie back!
“That’s right,” Buck replied with a delicate tick to the score sheet.
That’s damn right!
Nothing tasted as good as victory—not even raw vegan cookie dough.
“Since I’m down here, let’s start with you for the next round, Jordan,” Buck said, glancing at the clipboard.
“Hit me with your best shot, Buck,” he answered, inhaling a lungful of fresh wilderness air.
Damn, maybe he was a wilderness aficionado after all!
“What’s Georgie’s favorite color?”
Georgie’s favorite color?
His cocksure expression faded.
Shit!
He had no idea.
Think!
She loved books, but books came in every color of the rainbow. What else did she love?
He snapped his fingers. “Two colors. Black and white because those are the colors of our dog’s fur,” he answered like the damn king of the mountain.
Buck slashed the paper. “No, that’s incorrect.”
He gasped. “What?”
“It’s rose,” Georgie called from across the gathering area.
His mouth fell open. “Rose? How could it be rose? Isn’t rose the same as pink? I thought you hated pink because your mom was all about that color,” he asked, needing some damn clarification.
Georgie’s cheeks flushed pink…rose. Whatever color it was, it wasn’t good for him.
“Rose is not